


A Season For Everything

by doctor__idiot



Series: SPN Kink Bingo 2017 [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: A Curse Made Them Do It, Bottom Dean, Domestic Fluff, First Time, Kid Fic, M/M, Mpreg, Supernatural Kink Bingo 2017, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 02:10:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12266766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor__idiot/pseuds/doctor__idiot
Summary: It takes Dean approximately two months to notice that something is wrong.





	A Season For Everything

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the SPN Kink Bingo square "Mpreg".
> 
> For the purpose of this fic, let’s imagine a world where male pregnancies are fairly rare but not unheard of. This story has been a long time coming and I have absolutely no excuse for how disgustingly long this got. I'm sorry it's so jumpy but I kind of wanted to try something new.

Has Dean ever mentioned he hates witches?

He really fucking hates them.

But right now, he also kind of loves them. Because Sam’s hands on his skin feel insanely good and his mouth—god, his mouth.

“This is ridiculous,” Dean manages to pant when Sam backs him against the wall, just barely remembering to kick the motel room door shut behind them. “We’re brothers.”

“Doesn’t feel ridiculous to me,” Sam says between kisses and Dean has to concede that he’s right. The next kiss, complete with a bite to his lip, makes Dean moan embarrassingly loud. The way Sam’s body presses against him definitely helps, too.

He breathes, “Jesus, fuck,” and tilts his head to the side when Sam starts biting along his throat. “Okay, okay, bed.”

Sam hums but it doesn’t look like he’s going to move any time soon. He tugs Dean’s T-shirt up over his head and then sets to work on his belt and fly.

“Sam!”

Sam grunts, “Fine,” and turns them around, holding onto Dean just as tightly as he has been doing, and Dean soon feels the edge of the bed against the back of his knees. He lets himself fall, taking Sam with him and tugging him on top of him. “Jesus, get naked already,” he demands and Sam grins down at him.

He rids himself of his own clothes while Dean wriggles out of his jeans, and they throw it all to the floor in a heap.

Dean has never even had sex with a guy and now he’s about to fuck his brother. How did his day get derailed this fast?

He remembers the witch’s muttered words right before he blasted her between the eyes, remembers how heat spread through him, how Sam asked, “Dean?” small and confused sounding, and Dean instantly cursed every supernatural being to Hell and back.

Sam feels fever-hot against him and he supposes he’s not much better, the blood rushing in his ears, his pulse pounding, and they’re taking it as slow as either of them can stand.

When Sam finally, _fucking finally_ , sinks his cock into Dean, pressing him down into the mattress, Dean wants to sob with relief. He pushed his hips back into the pleasure-pain of it and Sam makes a choked noise. His arms come around Dean’s torso, tugging him onto his knees, and he rasps right next to Dean’s ear, “God, been wanting to do this for so long. Jesus, this is—“

He breaks off but Dean nods, “Yeah, it is,” and then, “Fucking move.”

Sam obliges instantly. Pulls his hips back and slams back in, rocking Dean forward on his knees, and Dean shoots his hands out to steady himself. Sparks shiver all the way down his spine and he hangs his head, taking everything that Sam’s giving him.

It’s glorious and too much and not enough. And it’s over too quickly.

Soon, they collapse in a tangled mess of sweaty limbs and the restlessness has seeped from Dean’s body. He’s got his cheek pressed against the pillow, eyes closed, and Sam’s hand rests loosely on the small of his back. Now that it’s quiet again and his heartbeat has slowed, the panic rises.

“You’re freaking out. Stop it,” Sam says quietly but firmly and Dean’s freakout is momentarily postponed as he gapes at his brother.

“How—Quit it with your psychic shit,” he griped. The smell of sex and Sam still surrounds him and he shifts on top of the blanket.

Sam’s hand pushes down onto his back as if he is worried that Dean will jump up and bolt any second. “Please don’t run from this.”

Dean has half a mind to do exactly that. But he stays. Shuddering and breathing through his panic, but he stays.

In the morning, Dean has showered and gone out to get coffee before Sam even wakes up. They eat breakfast in silence and they don’t talk about it, not for lack of trying on Sam’s part.

The drive back to the bunker is quiet and uncomfortable but Dean can’t do what Sam wants him to do. He can’t talk about it, can hardly even _think_ about it, and it’s going to take a while for them go back to their normal routine but it’s for the best if they just forget the incident altogether.

~

It takes Dean approximately two months to notice that something is wrong.

It isn’t unusual for him to be on edge, especially during slow-going hunts, and he and Sam have always had their occasional bouts of pointed glances and snapped insults. It comes with being in each other’s pockets 24/7.

But when he clashes with Sam over the fact that the coffee he brought back from his morning run has too much sugar in it, Sam actually stops and stares. He dry-drawls, “Thank god Dean Winchester never makes mistakes,” and Dean instantly feels like shit.

A week later, he nearly bursts into tears because Sam left a dirty mug on the kitchen counter after Dean has just finished cleaning the dishes. He tried to hide it, entirely confused at his own body’s reactions, sniffling into the back of his hand, and Sam blurts out, “What is the matter with you?”

Dean bolts from the room, shaking his head. He feels like he desperately wants to scream.

~

He has gained weight.

It’s not very noticeable, not at first, the only reason Dean is even remotely aware of how much he weighs are police records. It’s not exactly something he’s ever paid much attention to and he figures as long he can still outrun ghosts and kick monster ass he’s golden.

Until it becomes actually visible a couple of months later and even his brother notices. Sam would probably prefer to cut out his own tongue before he mentioned it to Dean but he doesn’t stop _looking._ And he secretly smiles when Dean, for once, opts for the salad instead of the burger option.

Problem is, Dean doesn’t understand what he’s doing wrong. He isn’t eating more than usual, hasn’t had more booze, he’s even gone along with Sam on a few runs.

He feels heavy and tired and he doesn’t mention it to Sam when he goes out to buy new jeans.

~

When he gets chained to the bed by a vicious stomach flu two weeks later he finally decides to swallow his pride and seek a professional’s opinion. He stares down at the test results with complete and utter incomprehension.

“A fucking _what_?” he demands from the doctor, who jumps at his tone.

Sam shushes him, “Dean, Christ, calm down,” but Dean has never been farther from calming down and he pushes up into a sitting position and the physician’s assistant that’s in the room with them actually takes a step back from him.

“A baby,” the doctor informs him again, regarding him with something that might be confusion, or distain, or simple frustration over a patient who’s making her day more difficult than it has to be. Dean can’t find it in him to care.

He has heard correctly the first time then. His last tiny glimmer of hope that his hearing might have momentarily played tricks on him is snuffed out in an instant. The fight leaves him and he slumps forward, shoulders hunching. Sam’s hand grabs him by the neck, keeping him anchored in the here and now, and he is fucking grateful because his head is swimming.

He hears a clearing of the throat, then the doctor’s voice. “Would you like a minute?”

Sam’s low baritone follows, “Yes, please,” and then a door snicks shut. Sam drops onto the couch next to Dean.

There is a beat of silence. Then Sam says quietly but with emphasis, “Fuck.”

For some inexplicable reason it makes Dean burst out laughing. It’s too high-pitched and slightly deranged-sounding but it takes some of the tension away and once he’s gotten himself under control against, he leans against Sam’s shoulder. Sam leans right back. Magnets.

“How could this happen?” Sam asks.

Dean returns drily, “You really want me to explain that to you?”

“No.”

Dean sighs, looks up. “What now?”

Sam swallows. Breathes. Coughs, “I have absolutely no idea.”

Dean nods. Yeah, that’s pretty much what he figured.

~

“Hey, Sam, I found us a job,” Dean says a few days later. It’s been too quiet recently and he’s restless, itching to make himself useful. Sam’s expression quickly makes him reconsider that choice, though.

He looks absolutely livid. “What the hell, Dean? Are you out of your _mind_?”

Dean sits up straighter. “In general or—?”

“You can’t hunt!”

“The fuck?” he shoots back, “Why not?”

It should really be obvious and apparently Sam thinks so, too, because he is staring at Dean with blank features, mouth hanging open. “You—“ He shakes his head. “I can’t believe you really just ask me that.”

Dean’s voice sounds petulant even to himself when he repeats, “Why not?” but he knows the answer already.

And it scares the living shit out of him.

“Don’t make me,” he says, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut, “Don’t make me give up hunting.”

Sam’s anger seems to drain from him. His shoulders slump and he collapsed heavily to the mattress next to Dean. He touches his arm, curling his long fingers around Dean’s elbow. “I don’t know what to tell you. It’s too dangerous right now, this isn’t just about the two of us anymore. I suppose, eventually when she is older—”

Dean interrupts him, his hands fisted tight. “I haven’t even decided that I wanna keep it.”

He immediately regrets the words when Sam’s face falls and pain overtakes it. “What?”

Looking down, plucking at the seam of his jeans, Dean says, “I don’t know if I can do this. If I _wanna_ do this.”

“You can’t make that decision alone,” Sam returns stiffly and it’s clear what he’s saying. _I want this. Don’t take this from me._ “I thought it was clear but … apparently we need to talk about this.”

Dean sighs and closes his eyes. “I know.”

“I don’t understand,” Sam says, “You’ve always wanted to be—“

“A father?” Dean gives a humorless laugh. “Yeah, but not like this. Not now. Not…” He falls silent. He’s exhausted and it’s too much to process.

“I know it’s weird but this is our chance to get out, Dean. With _out_ dying.” Sam nudges him and gives him a tiny smile. “Which would be nice, you know.”

Dean smiles back, can’t help himself, and for once, it’s genuine. “Yeah. It’s just … I think I need some time to,” he makes a motion with his hand, “wrap my head around it all.”

Sam nods. “Yeah, me too.”

Sam, in that annoying habit of his, hit the nail right on the head when he said that this was their golden ticket out of the world of blood and gore, because that is exactly what terrifies Dean the most. The prospect of not hunting, not being allowed to do what he’s good at, the _only_ thing he’s good at, is enough to make his chest feel tight enough to take away his breath for a moment. He can almost feel the panic rising, bubbling up from his stomach and singeing his insides, and he instinctively wraps his arms around his midsection, protection against what will undeniably come.

“What is it?” Sam asks, alarmed, but all Dean can do is shake his head. “I don’t—I can’t—“

“Hey,” Sam shushes him gently and reaches out, “Come here, it’s okay.”

Dean wants to tell him that he doesn’t need to be babied, that Sam can shove that where the sun don’t shine, but he still can’t fucking string together a coherent sentence. He doesn’t move when Sam wraps his arms around him, tugs Dean into his own body, and presses soft lips into his hair. “You’re okay. We can do this, I know we can. I’m with you all the way, you hear me?”

Dean digs his own thumbs into his eye sockets, ashamed of his reaction to Sam’s body heat and the feeling of comfort surrounding him. He presses the back of his hand against his mouth to prevent any embarrassing sounds from spilling.

Jesus, he’s not just pregnant, he’s _actually_ turning into a chick.

After awhile of calming his breath and his pulse, listening to the beat of Sam’s heart against his ear, he heaves a sigh and mutters, “‘m still not giving up hunting.”

The chest he’s leaning against vibrates with silent laughter. “Okay,” Sam says, audibly amused but Dean is too tired to call him on it.

“Wanna sleep,” Dean mumbles, more to himself, but Sam hears anyway and strokes a hand through his hair. It feels really fucking good.

“Okay,” Sam says again and shifts until he’s lying down on the bed with Dean against his front. This isn’t quite what Dean meant, he imagined that Sam would retreat to his own room and that they both would regroup in the morning, but he isn’t about to complain. Isn’t about to pull away from Sam’s warmth, from the comfort of steady breaths against the back of his neck.

He must have dozed off eventually because when he comes back around the mattress next to him is cold. He’s still in pretty much the same position he fell asleep in, on his side, stretched out diagonally across the bed. The blanket is bunched up somewhere around his knees and apparently Sam took his jeans off him during the night.

Speaking of.

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty,” Sam says as he enters the room again, rubbing a towel through his damp hair.

Dean snorts and turns onto his back, splaying a hand over his belly. “You can joke but you wish you looked this good.”

Sam rolls his eyes and flips him off and it’s so familiar, so _normal_ , that Dean laughs out loud.

~

Dean plops down next to Sam on his brother’s bed and holds out a bag of chips to him. “Wanna watch a movie?”

Sam takes the bag and rips it open. “Sure. What do you feel like? _What to Expect When You’re Expecting_?”

The quip is so entirely out of the blue that a surprised laugh bubbles out of Dean’s mouth before he can stop it. Giggling, he digs his elbow into Sam’s ribs.

“No, asshole,” he snorts, “Liz Banks is smoking and all but I don’t really go for the whole pregnant look.”

He shoots Sam a sideward glance, expecting him to make a crack about how Dean knows who plays in the movie. He channel-surfs. Sue him.

But his brother is worlds away from joking. Isn’t even smiling. Dean is about to ask what’s wrong when Sam says without inflection, “I think I do.”

It takes Dean a second but when the meaning sinks in, he makes a shocked noise, his mouth half-open but he doesn’t have the words. “You—“ he starts but swallows the rest, not sure if he even knows what he meant to say. Sam is still looking at him, face honest and open, and Dean doesn’t think he can move.

He never thought—

It was a fluke. A stupid spell that nearly ruined their relationship. Nothing more, nothing less.

Suddenly, he remembers the night from two weeks ago, only days after they found out. He remembers being so scared, feeling so vulnerable. And he remembers how fucking good it felt to be held by Sam and to fall asleep right next to him with his warm breaths brushing Dean’s skin.

He hasn’t really given it much thought but maybe he should have. Because the way Sam is looking at him right now makes him feel like the biggest idiot for taking so long to understand, for not realizing sooner.

“Okay,” he says, breathless, “Okay,” and then they’re kissing and Dean doesn’t know who moved first but it doesn’t matter because it’s been five long months, but _god_ , he remembers this. He remembers Sam’s taste, his smell that’s always there, always familiar, but never like this, never this close, and he remembers the way Sam felt against him when he pulls him into his lap, Dean’s thighs on either side of Sam’s legs.

Dean licks into his brother’s mouth and the moan he elicits from Sam burns all the way down his spine. Large palms are resting on his sides, gripping him tight, making him shiver, and Sam kisses him back just as fiercely.

He wants—God, he wants. And this time there isn’t even a spell he can blame for it.

He grips the hem of Sam’s T-shirt and quickly whips it over his head, carelessly throwing it to the floor. He can barely suppress a needy sound at the feel of all that naked skin, solid muscles moving under his hands.

“Shit, Dean,” Sam gasps, “Shoulda done this again months ago.”

The words settle hot in Dean’s stomach and he has to swallow before replying, “Probably wouldn’t’ve let you.” His voice has already gone rough even though they’ve barely done anything and it gives him more than a little thrill that Sam is the one who can do this to him.

Maybe this was inevitable, spell or not. Maybe they would have ended up here sooner or later either way.

Dean’s head is spinning. He asks, “So you didn’t just say that? When we first … you know.” He pulls back a little. “About wanting this, I mean. Wanting _me_.” He sounds incredulous even to himself.

Sam gives a short laugh. “No, I didn’t just say that.”

It’s an unfamiliar, slightly scary, incredibly exhilarating feeling to be wanted. Dean is throughly acquainted with being an object of someone’s sexual desire and he certainly knows what it feels like to look for someone, to sink into a warm body for one night in the pretense of companionship. Even with Cassie and Lisa, whom he even thought about marrying at some point, it never felt right, always slightly off.

But it’s all there, in this very moment, right there on Sam’s face and Dean stops breathing for a second. Maybe this is what he has been looking for. Something to hold on to that would give him hope that they can actually do this. Together.

The Winchesters raising a fucking child. Ain’t that something.

But right here, right now, Dean wants it. All of it.

He kisses Sam again because he doesn’t know what to do with himself, with all the emotions swirling around inside of him, and it’s all he can do to keep from crying. Sam’s huge hands splay over his back under his T-shirt, callouses rough against his skin.

“I’ve got you.”

The words nearly get swallowed between their mouths but Dean catches them. He shudders, a foreign feeling of safety washing over him, because maybe, just _maybe,_ Sam’s right for once.

Suddenly, Sam chuckles and Dean pulls back. “What?”

“I think she’s kicking me.” Sam says it with this huge, dopey grin on his face but Dean can’t bring himself to make fun of his little brother.

He gestures between them, says, “That’s what you get for invading her space.”

Sam laughs and smooths his hands over Dean’s sides to his belly, slowly as if he’s asking for permission, and Dean does his best not to squirm against the tickling sensation. The touch does something to him and he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s just wired that way now, or if it’s because it’s Sam, or because something has changed between them. He just knows that it feels illegally good to have his brother’s hands on him and that Sam’s awed expression upon feeling the tiny movements against his palms are something Dean doesn’t ever want to miss again.

He reaches out automatically to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Sam’s ear. Sam probably isn’t even aware of how he turns his head into the touch. Dean leans forward again, wrapping his fingers around Sam’s wrists, and kisses him once more. Sam opens up to him, responding instantly, and trails his hands down to Dean’s thighs, leaving a slight shiver in their wake.

It’s ridiculous how easily Sam can make him fall apart like this, make him moan shamelessly into his brother’s mouth while those deft fingers slip into the waistband of his sweatpants, stroking the sensitive skin there.

“What do you want?” Dean asks because he’s pretty sure he’s good with anything right now as long as Sam never stops touching him.

Sam gently bites his lower lip. Smiles, “Anything and everything you’re up for.”

~

The next day, Sam freezes in the door frame on his way into the kitchen.

“Um,” he says, “What are you doing?”

Dean turns around, the knife in his hand part-way through slicing a pear in half. “What’s it look like? I was hungry.”

There is a beat of silence, followed by Sam’s tentative “Yes,” a drawn-out sound, “Pears. They’re fruit. They’re healthy. You’re eating them.”

“Hilarious. Really, Sam, I wish I was half as funny as you think you are.”

Dean watches a grin spread on Sam’s face as if he’s just had some kind of revelation, and honestly, Dean has long given up trying to understand the kid. He turns back around and finishes cutting the pear before popping the pieces into his mouth.

~

“You think you wanna go back to law school?” Dean asks one day, “Because we could make that work. We could try to find something in Palo Alto, or we could—“

“What?”

“—fly or drive or—“

Sam cocks an eyebrow. “You hate flying.”

“I’m just saying,” Dean huffs, exasperated, “If you—“

“No.”

“Would you let me fin—“ Dean’s eyes widen. “No?”

“No. Jody’s here. Alex and Claire are here. Most of the time anyway. It makes sense to stay. You’ve basically already got a job here.”

“I’m sure I could find something else. Not many mechanics that know how to work classic cars.”

Sam is shaking his head before Dean can finish. “This isn’t even a possibility. Besides,” he gives Dean a side-smile, “I like it here.”

Dean snorts, “South Dakota? Why? It’s boring,” making sure to have his voice translate that he doesn’t mind ‘boring’ at all.

As always, Sam immediately picks up on it. “Boring’s fine by me. Although I’m not sure our lives are ever going to be boring again.”

Dean’s hand automatically migrates to his own stomach, palm fitting over the round of it. He hums, more acknowledgement than agreement.

“It’s what you’ve always wanted.” He isn’t talking about boring lives, and he doesn’t quite know why he keeps insisting.

Sam smiles at him again, in that weird lop-sided way. “Yeah, well. I don’t think I want that anymore. I wouldn’t have made a good lawyer anyway.”

“Sure you would’ve.” Dean perches on the edge of the table, picking at some lint on his sweatpants. He feels a little raggedy, always dressed in either pajama bottoms or sweats these days, but it’s simply the most comfortable thing to wear. “You’d make a good _anything_ if you put your mind to it.”

Sam gently smacks his knee, then lets his hand linger. “I wouldn’t go into law again, even if I went back to school. I only chose it because I wanted to help people.” He looks up, pushes his hair out of his eyes. “But that’s not the right way for me. I was actually thinking about looking into online courses for clinical psychology or nursing. I’ve already checked out some History lessons and that sounds interesting, too. If there’s a teaching position somewhere.” He shrugs his shoulders, letting it hang there.

“Nerd,” Dean says immediately because it’s expected of him. Then, “Yeah, I can see that. Any of it. I meant it when I said you’d make a good anything.”

Sam looks up at him from under his bangs, suddenly appearing shy. Then he rises from his chair and leans forward, caging Dean between his hands as he braces them on the table. The kiss that follows is as much appreciation as it is a strategy to make Dean shut the hell up and Dean is, for once, absolutely okay with that.

~

Sam steps up behind Dean and sets his hands lightly on Dean’s hips. Dean jumps at the initial contact, then sighs and melts against the support of his brother’s solid body behind him. His spine feels ready to snap in two. He kind of has to pee but it’s not urgent and he couldn’t move if his life depended on it.

“How’re you doing?” comes Sam’s soft-low voice.

Dean lets his head fall back against Sam’s shoulder, breathes in deep, smell of day-old cologne and soap in his nose. “I’m okay.” It’s close enough to the truth that he might just get away with it. He has gotten fairly used to the constant aching.

Sam’s lips find his temple. “Try again.”

Dean chuckles mirthlessly. “How d’you think I’m doing?” He leans back a little farther, letting Sam take a more of his weight. “I can’t breathe right, my back hurts, my head hurts, my feet hurt. I’ve got heartburn from hell and I need to piss like a horse every ten minutes. Anything else you wanna know?”

Sam’s nose pushes into his hair. “I’m sorry you feel like shit.”

He sounds so genuine it momentarily throws Dean for a loop. He anticipated mockery, or at the very least, some sort of amused comeback, but Sam simply holds him, providing silent comfort. Dean isn’t sure how he is supposed to feel about that.

He says, “This is your fault.”

“It is?”

“The guy always gets the blame, Sammy.”

“Okay.” He feels Sam nod. “Wifey.”

Dean can breathe again. Jokes are easier, safer. He doesn’t know what to do with all those emotion he finds himself battling whenever Sam is around. It’s all too much to handle sometimes. He smacks Sam aside the head, more a gentle tap than anything, and Sam chuckles, doesn’t even flinch.

“What’s funny?”

Sam says, “We’re having a baby.”

“Would you stop saying that?” Dean groans, “Believe me, I’m very much aware.”

“I don’t wanna stop.”

Dean shakes his head. He still hasn’t wrapped his mind completely around the fact that soon there would be an actual honest-to-God _baby_ coming out of him. He has barely made his peace with being pregnant and now he already had to think about … that.

Sam nudges him. “You need anything?”

“‘m fine.”

He can’t see but he _knows_ Sam is rolling his eyes. “Yeah, I know. You said. I just don’t believe you.”

Dean is too tired to fight with him about it. “You know, I might not be able to get out of a chair without help but I sure as shit can still shoot you in the foot.”

Sam’s answering chuckle is low and breathy, right next to Dean’s ear, and Dean’s stomach does a flip. Or it would, if there was any goddamn room for his stomach to move. “You wouldn’t, though.”

Dean turns his head as much as he can to look at his brother. “And why’s that?”

Sam’s eyes darkening is the only warning he gets before Sam’s mouth is on his and he has to grab onto Sam’s shoulder to keep his balance. The kiss isn’t a desperate one but still forceful, slightly messy, and utterly perfect. Dean might actually develop an addiction. Not that he’s going to tell Sam that.

He says, “Smooth, Sammy, real smooth,” and Sam licks the words right off his tongue.

~

“I ain’t changing my last name!”

“Well, neither am I.”

Dean breaks their stare-down and huffs a frustrated breath. “What then?”

Sam sighs, sits down. “We could both change it so it’d be fair,” he says but his heart clearly isn’t in it. It’s a ridiculously ordinary detail but lately, it’s all been about hashing out the details.

It definitely beats having to think about how, in just a few weeks, Dean will be in the hospital for the delivery of the tiny human growing inside of him, and he knows realistically that a C-section is one of the lesser pains he’s been through in his life but he still isn’t particularly keen on it. He crosses his arms over his chest protectively.

They are actually settling down, getting _out_ , and as much as that still scares him, it’s too important to do it under a fake name.

“We could just say it’s a coincidence. Winchester’s gotta be a common name.”

Sam doesn’t look convinced.

Dean throws his hands, giving up. “Well, that’s me all outta ideas. So unless there’s anything else banging around in that clever head of yours…” He winces and sits down on the edge of Jody’s couch. His back is currently trying to kill him, he’s sure of it, but he doesn’t want to give Sam the opportunity to mother-hen him. He’s had enough of that over the past months.

But of course his little brother is too observant for his own good. “You okay?” he asks, eyebrows drawn tight.

“‘m fine, Sam.” Dean waves him away. “I’m not actually your wife so you can stop with your coddling.”

Exhaustion takes him suddenly, as it has been doing for a few weeks, and he rubs his eyes. He’s tense, waiting for Sam to keep pushing until he snaps and yells at him.

Turns out they’re both still capable of learning because Sam stays quiet, simply gets up and slots himself behind Dean on the couch, thighs warm on either side of Dean’s hips.

“I’m not coddling you, I just can’t help worrying sometimes. Sue me.” Sam’s fingers find the knotted muscles on either side of Dean’s spine, digging in and massaging, and Dean can barely suppress an embarrassingly loud moan. Sam has precisely until never to stop doing what he’s doing.

He lets his head fall back in bliss. “Keep doin’ that.”

Sam chuckles, the vibration of his chest against Dean’s back, and then he drops a brief kiss to Dean’s clothed shoulder. “What would you think about marrying me?”

Dean splutters, “Excuse me?” which only serves to make Sam laugh.

“Not for real, idiot,” he says, his hands never stopping, “Just on paper. That way we’d both get to keep our name.”

Dean is about to shake his head, demand ‘What the ever-loving fuck, Sam?’ but then he just sighs, because honestly? It ain’t the strangest thing to have happened by a long shot. After the year he’s had Dean needs a completely new definition of ‘strange’.

“Fine,” he says, “Whatever.”

In for a penny, in for a pound, right?

~

Dean hates hospitals. He’s used to pain and exhaustion and he doesn’t see the point in staying. But Sam isn’t budging on the subject so he grudgingly lies back down because to be honest, he is too tired to argue with his stubborn little brother—pardon, _husband_.

Ain’t that still freaky as fuck.

He sighs and closes his eyes, and before he knows it he’s back asleep.

~

“You can’t name her ‘Mary’,” Claire exclaims, then catches herself and lowers her voice, hissing, “Are you insane?”

“Yeah, I vote a definite no on this one,” Jody chimes in. Behind her, Alex looks confused and stays quiet.

Dean huffs. “’s just an idea.” He’s got his legs thrown up onto the couch, leaning back against Sam’s side who’s got their little girl in his arms. She squirms occasionally in her sleep, eyes firmly shut and tiny hands curled into fists. Dean sort of has the instinct to reach out, to touch her, and it’s been that way ever since he has seen her for the first time in the hospital. He figures it’s natural but it’s going to take some getting used to, feeling this connected to another human being, especially one that’s this helpless.

“Well, our grandparents’ name are out of the question,” Sam says without looking up from the sleeping girl’s face.

“Why?” Alex asks but falls silent again when Jody shakes her head, conveying, ‘You don’t wanna know.’

“You’re really not very good at this, huh?” Claire remarks with a raised eyebrow and catches Dean’s gaze. He scoffs at her. “Yeah, thanks for pointing that out.”

Jody rolls her eyes. “Who wants some coffee?”

“Oh yeah,” Dean instantly brightens up, “Me, please.”

“I was thinking ‘Charlie’,” Sam says quietly, still caught in the first part of the conversation, “Kind of reminds me of her. If the hair stays that way, that is.”

Dean looks down at the baby, who’s scrunching up her nose in her sleep. Her hair does have a red tint to it but that might change. “Not sure that’s a good idea, either.”

Sam grins up at him, taking his eyes of their daughter for the first time in half an hour. “Yeah, I figured.”

“Why can we only come up with names of dead people? That’s … morbid.”

Sam chuckles, taking care not to jostle the bundle in his arms. “Our whole lives are morbid.”

Dean sighs and slowly turns toward him, still sore from the C-section, slinging one leg over Sam’s knee comfortably. “We’re really not very good at this.”

“What about ‘Stacy’?” Alex says quietly as she shuffles back into the living room, carrying two steaming mugs. Dean didn’t even notice she followed Jody into the kitchen.

Sam looks up, exchanges a look with Dean. “I like it,” he says and it sounds like he means it.

Dean looks down at the baby girl, then reaches out to stroke her little fist. In her sleep, she curls her stubby fingers around the tip of his, holding on. He nods. “Yeah. Stacy. Okay.”

~

Dean feels groggy. It’s been almost been two weeks since he was discharged from the hospital but the exhaustion hasn’t vanished. And on top of everything else, he thinks he might be coming down with a cold.

He feels like an asshole for snapping at Sam all morning but his headache hasn’t allowed for anything else. And the worst thing about it is that Sam is always so nerve-gratingly understanding. Dean wishes he would just push back, get mad for once, and stop being so goddamned collected all the time.

“Dean, what do you think?”

Dean grunts, “I wanna sleep, that’s what I think.”

He mentally kicks himself when Sam raises an eyebrow and the blonde woman with the clipboard in front of her breasts who has been nothing but nice while showing them around the house that’s for sale, shifts her weight, confused and visibly uncomfortable.

Sam gives her a smile and it only looks forced to Dean, who has catalogued every single one of his brother’s expressions. “Would you excuse us for a minute?”

The woman seems only to happy to oblige and her high-heeled shoes make clicking noises on the tiled kitchen floor as she retreats.

Sam faces Dean. Sighs, “Would it kill you to be polite for once?”

“You know,” Dean shoots back, “It just might.”

Sam ignores him, lowering his voice. “You haven’t had anything nice to say about _any_ of the houses we’ve looked at so far. Are they really all that horrible or are you just being a jerk on principle?”

A crease has appeared between Sam’s eyebrows and Dean can’t help the inappropriate excitement he feels at finally having managed to make Sam lose at least some of his cool.

“I’m being a jerk because I don’t wanna buy a house, Sam. I don’t wanna live in a house. It’s … weird.” He’s vaguely aware of his childish behavior and the realization does not improve his mood at all. “I get it, okay? We need to get a house. So pick whichever one you like. I’ll deal.”

Sam sighs, obviously tired of the conversation but unwilling to let it go. Neither of them has gotten much sleep lately. “I like the one with the front porch. The yard’s pretty small but it’s not like we’re gonna gonna plant flower beds anyway.”

Dean nods, “Okay, we’ll call ‘em up and sign the lease as soon as we can.”

“Dean.” There is audible frustrating in that one word. “There’s no point if you’re not going to like it.”

“I have to get used to it,” Dean settles on.

Sam finally seems to be giving up. “If you say so.”

There is a knock, bony knuckles against the wooden door frame. The realtor is fiddling with the hem of her blouse. “Gentlemen? I’m so sorry but I’ve got another couple coming to look at the house, so if you’re not—“

Sam interrupts her gently, “Of course. Thank you very much but we don’t think this is the right fit for us.”

The way he is speaking for the both of them makes Dean grit his teeth but he stays silent.

She smiles at them. “I’m sure you’ll find the place for you.”

They shake hands and Dean exhales in relief when they step through the front door. He can’t say why this whole house-hunting thing is bothering him so much, apart from the obvious reason. Maybe it’s just the headache.

Sam’s hand comes down on his shoulder, squeezing for a moment before loosening his grip but letting his palm linger. The heat radiating from it spreads all the way down Dean’s back and he can’t help the small shiver.

“You’re exhausted,” Sam states and Dean’s first impulse is to deny it. He relents, “I feel like I haven’t slept in weeks, I don’t know what it is.”

There’s a half-smile in the corner of Sam’s mouth. “You don’t need to be okay 24/7, you know? No one expects you to be. Least of all me.”

“It shouldn’t always be you who’s the one … comforting me. That’s—“

“Your job?” Sam finishes for him, his tone revealing nothing. Dean looks down at his shoes, staying quiet, letting Sam know he’s right without so many words.

It _is_ his job, it’s always been his job. And now he can’t do it. And he can’t hunt, either, which is usually his outlet when things aren’t going the way he wants them to. That or alcohol. Which is also not really an option right now. What kind of father would he be if we were to get drunk while having to care for a baby who’s barely three weeks old?

“How about,” Sam begins, “we go back to Jody’s, take Stacy off Alex’s hands, and lie down for a bit? Provided we can get her to sleep.” He grimaces and it almost makes Dean laugh despite everything.

Stacy has been rather agreeable — remind him to thank every available deity for that blessing — but sleep hasn’t come easy for the three of them.

“You think it was okay to leave her with Claire and Alex?”

Sam’s face stretches into a grin. “I don’t think they can do more harm than we can.”

Dean hums. “Yeah, no, I know. Never mind. Let’s go.”

“Actually,” Sam says, “I was under the impression that we might not get her back now that Alex has taken a liking to her.”

Dean vividly remembers the disgusting cooing sounds both girls made upon seeing the little bundle when they brought her back from the hospital. Shoot him if he ever resigns himself to that. Not that he thought that Alex — and Claire especially — would be the type to make cooing sounds. It was an odd picture to behold.

“I’m just saying,” he slides himself behind the wheel of the Impala, “we should get back. Which is what we’re doing, so everything’s peachy.”

Sam is staring at him while he peels out of the driveway, past the ‘for sale’ sign.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Sam says and it’s a big old lie, “Just … you’re protective. It’s good. It’s cute.”

“Okay, first off, I’m not _cute_.” Dean whips the wheel around little too hard and the car skids for a moment until it rights itself again. “And second, I’m not protective, I’m—“

“Chill,” Sam laughs with a hand braced against the dashboard, well-used to Dean’s driving, “Yes, you _are_. That wasn’t supposed to be an insult, idiot. I’d be concerned if you _weren’t_ protective.”

Dean shrugs and smoothly pulls around the next curve. “I guess. Still weird, though.”

“What is?”

“Fuck, everything.” He sneaks a glance at Sam out of the corner of his eye. His brother looks relaxed in the passenger seat, one elbow propped up against the door, using his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. “Yeah,” he agrees, “I’m kinda glad things turned out the way they did, though, y’know?”

Dean isn’t sure he does, in fact, know. But Sam does look weirdly happy, lighter somehow, and Dean is willing to take it for the miracle that it is.

“And the house is gonna be fine, too,” Sam continues, “We just have to get used to it. I’ll even let you pick out the curtains.”

The joke is unexpected but welcome and it makes Dean snort. “You better ‘cause we both know you got no taste, Sammy.”

~

They have mostly finished outfitting their new home with furniture and Sam is reading the morning paper at the kitchen table. Disgustingly domestic. Almost too normal for Dean’s comfort.

“We should get a dog,” Dean says into the familiar silence between them.

Sam’s head jerks up. “What?”

“Yeah,” Dean shrugs, “I’s thinking it might be good for a kid, y’know?”

He tries not to let it get to him how Sam’s eyes light up ridiculously bright. Tries not to let the guilt take him over how their childhood — their entire _life_ — has always demanded so many sacrifices from his brother.

“But,” Sam starts, visibly reluctant, “you don’t like dogs.” His voice rises on the end syllable as if it’s a question but there is no hiding his excitement.

Dean is going to have to bite the bullet on this one, and looking at Sam’s openly happy face, he doesn’t think he minds all that much.

“I like dogs fine,” he says, “I just don’t want them in the car. Or anywhere near it.”

Sam is already nodding, giddy like a child, “Deal. I’ll keep him away from your car. I promise.”

Dean grins, and a muffled “You better,” is all he can get out before he finds himself with an armful of not-so-little brother.

~

“You think we’ll ever tell her?” Dean asks one evening as they’re lying in bed, Stacy making little snuffling sounds in her sleep in the crib nearby.

Sam’s hand comes to a stop on Dean’s back as if his motor skills aren’t good enough to trace random symbols onto Dean’s skin and process information at the same time. “Tell her what?”

“Any of it,” Dean sighs with his eyes closed. He’s got his head resting on Sam’s shoulder and he’s been in and out of a doze with Sam’s fingers caressing his skin. “What we used to do. What the world is really like, that monsters are real. And that—“

He hesitates but Sam has already caught on. “That we’re brothers.”

“Yeah.”

“I have no idea.”

The no-nonsense admission makes Dean snort. “Very helpful.”

“I’m serious,” Sam says, splaying his palm over Dean’s flank, thumb stroking back and forth over his hipbone, “I say we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“Now you’re just stealing my lines.”

Dean can feel Sam smiling into his hair. “Borrowing.”

Nothing is certain right now, they’re making it up as they go along. Some days it terrifies Dean so much he can barely breathe. He looks over at their daughter, this small bundle of helplessness and he feels powerless. Feels like his hands are made up of ruin and he’s doomed to mess up badly sooner or later. From what he gathered from all those not-so-helpful parenting books Jody dug up for them, this is exactly what parenthood is supposed to feel like.

So maybe he’s on the right track. And he figures, as long as he and Sam mess up together, he’s okay with it.

“If she gets anything from you,” he mutters tiredly, “she’s got it all figured out before she hits double digits.”

He barely hears Sam’s laugh before he slides back into sleep.

~

“No,” Sam shakes his head, “No way,” while Dean is trying to breathe through his laughter.

“She can’t name the dog ‘Sammy’, that’s just—“ He looks at Dean, imploring and clearly unamused, but the laughter continues to pour out of Dean with no way of stopping it.

“Hilarious,” he finishes, breathless, “That’s hilarious, Sam. Besides, she’s right, y’know, he does kind of look like you.”

Both Stacy and the puppy are staring up at them with similar expressions, heads cocked to the side in confusion. The dog makes a quiet whining sound and Stacy asks, “Papa?”

Sam takes his eyes off Dean and responds absent-mindedly, “Yes, baby?”

Her eyes are glued to Dean, who is now trying to suppress his laughter, red in the face with the effort. “Is Daddy okay?”

Sam sighs. “Not when I’m done with him.”

Her blonde eyebrows rise even higher and Dean lightly smacks Sam’s arm. “Don’t scare her,” he says, pulling himself together.

He kneels down, assures, “I’m fine, monkey.” With an upward glance at Sam, he adds, grinning, “And I think ‘Sammy’ is a great name for a dog.”

Sam groans above him but Dean manages to swallow his laughter this time. His daughter is still looking between them somewhat confused but she seems happy enough to have successfully named the newest addition to their family.

~

April is melting into May as they’re standing on the front porch that Dean’s grown to like more and more, squinting against a cloudless sunny sky, when Sam says, “Our daughter.”

Dean barks a laugh at the awe in Sam’s voice. “You’re never gonna get tired of sayin’ that, are you?”

His brother’s eyes are fixed on Stacy, chasing Dog Sammy through the front yard. The Golden Retriever has grown into his clumsy paws over the last year and a half, right along with their baby girl, who will be starting kindergarten in a week and is currently shrieking with laughter and paying neither Dean nor Sam any mind.

Sam shakes his head. “Never.”

Dean leans back against the pillar that is holding the porch’s roof. He pushes his sunglasses up onto his head. “Say it again.”

Sam turns, grinning right at him, and it’s entirely cheesy but Dean reaches for him on instinct, curls his fingers around his brother’s wrist and tugs. Sam goes willingly, grin sliding into a soft smile. “Our daughter.”


End file.
